


Tea for Two

by greerwatson



Series: Christmas at the Clubhouse [2]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Christmas, Gen, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/greerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the community clubhouse, Aunt Olive shares tea and biscuits with the Secretary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea for Two

**Author's Note:**

> This story was posted originally to the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com) LiveJournal community as a gift to the members for Christmas in 2009.

Whisking round a corner in the right mode of thought, Olive found herself walking up the steps to the porch of the Community’s clubhouse.  Lucy was not with her, having a meeting of the Women’s Institute to chair; but she had given Olive detailed instructions.  Nevertheless, her first action on coming in was to go politely round the rooms on the ground floor to see if anyone was there; and, on finding the Secretary at work updating the story index, ask her if she would like a pot of tea. 

“Olive!” exclaimed the Secretary in surprise.  “What brings you here?”

Rather flustered, Olive tried prevarication, and then headed for the safety of the kitchen.  Taken aback by this reaction to her innocent question, the Secretary followed.  Olive was taking down the teapot from the shelf.

“Is something wrong?” asked the Secretary.  “Nothing I’ve said, I hope.”

“No, no,” said Olive hastily.  She rinsed the pot under the tap.

The Secretary silently filled the kettle.  It sat on the stove, equally silent, while the women watched.  Eventually, Olive could bear it no more.

“I wonder....” 

She hesitated.  The Secretary smiled encouragingly. 

“This seems such a very _well_ equipped house.”

“There are times when it seems to equip itself,” said the Secretary, a bit wryly.  In fact, the house was just as capable as the grounds of making any adjustments necessary to accommodate new arrivals.  The river that had mysteriously appeared a few months earlier had gradually faded with the departure of the elephants; but the hall had one day acquired the door to a music room, and the number of bedrooms seemed always in flux.

Olive recalled that, when they had baked the cake together for the Five Year celebrations, she had sometimes found the Secretary’s remarks to be quite incomprehensible.  It seemed politer just to ignore them, so she went into the pantry in search of a tin of biscuits.  To her pleasure, she found one with a pre-war bounty of Bourbon, Garibaldi, and Nice, as well as plainer biscuits.  Meanwhile, unwilling to press her when she clearly was troubled by something, the Secretary got down a couple of mugs, and opened the cookie jar on the counter.  On her return, Olive scarcely noticed the mugs:  she set cups and saucers out neatly on a tray, filled the jug with milk, and found the sugar bowl.

The kettle finally boiled.  As Olive warmed the pot and opened the tea caddy, the Secretary helpfully popped teabags in the cups.

The pair eventually settled down in the library in a couple of armchairs.  Hermit and toll-house cookies had joined the biscuits on a plate, and both were sampled.  “I rather like those ‘nice’ ones,” commented the Secretary, “though I don’t know how they get away with calling them that.”  Olive frowned at yet another odd comment; and once again ignored it politely.  She took a Garibaldi biscuit.

“You know what we used to call these at school?”  The Secretary shook her head.  “Squashed fly biscuits.”

The American shied back for an instant; but a closer look revealed that the dark spots were simply small raisins embedded in the cookies.  She glanced up to a twinkle in Olive’s eye:  “Only currants.”  Schoolgirl humour!  It was evidence of a side to Laurie’s aunt that some of the Community had long suspected to exist.

“Does Laurie like them?” the Secretary asked.  “Would you like to take some back with you?”

Olive was a little startled at the suggestion.  It had seemed to her that the Community and its clubhouse were somehow apart from the real world of the book in which she lived.  Remembering the fairy tales of her childhood, she had not even been sure if things taken would return home with her, or vanish or spoil like fairy gold turning to leaves.  Evidently, the Secretary thought a gift would be all right.  Furthermore, the generous suggestion rather indicated that even Lucy’s presumption might not be resented. 

However, instead of broaching the question of what, exactly, she might be allowed to take home with her, Olive felt compelled to point out that—though biscuits would, of course, be welcome—it would not be Laurie who would eat them. 

“He can’t get away for Christmas,” she explained.  “He can’t get a long enough leave to come all the way from London.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed the Secretary automatically.  “How awful for him.”  It did occur to her, though, that Christmas with the Straikes might not be quite as delightful as Olive imagined.  Indeed, ‘not getting leave’ might be more of an excuse.  Still, unless Ralph could get to London, it would mean that Laurie would be alone during the holiday.  That did seem a pity.

Perhaps something could be done.


End file.
